Roanna
by obsessionpersonified
Summary: A girl, a culling. Its all the same...or is it?


Killing Touch

Trembling consumed her, as if she were a fault line between seismic plates. It began out of a deep, ingrained fear and continued out of cold. Why was she so afraid? What terror captured her in its hold before she closed her eyes and tightened its grip even through sleep? Cold was normal, cold was easy, so she began with that. Perhaps Papa had not gotten wood for the fire. That was typical, her father would sometimes get so soused on the cheap moonshine they made that he frequently forgot even her name.

But... she could not move. Why couldn't she move? What was wrong with her? Why did she fear? Her mind tried shying away from the question, tried to avoid the issue but she pulled it back and focused it with all the strength she had earned chopped trees down for fire wood, plowing the land and scraping a living hand to mouth by herself for the past six years. Why did she fear?

And it all came back to her in one horrible wave, riptide dragging her down.

Culled.

She gasped in breath, screwing her eyes shut further. No, no, no, no! Not this, anything but this! Not after sixteen years of surviving, not after all the hardships she'd endured! Why? It was inconceivable, that life would end with one stroke, that her essence would be snuffed out with as much effort as one would pluck an apple from the tree; soon to be crushed and ground between merciless, sharp white teeth.

He musings cut short as without warning whatever force that held her immobile was suddenly released. She fell forward and went sprawling on the floor, skin sticky with an unknown residue and gasping for air. Though she fought it, her eyes opened and she found herself staring at black shod feet, the material that queer leather/scale hybrid worn by...yes, by the Wraith. Her eyes traveled upward, propelled by a horrifying curiosity. The sneering, inhuman face above her filled her with a dread that turned her chest to lead.

"It wakes." The odd layered-deep voice mused lyrically, amusement coating the words. She was struck dumb with terror. "And its silent. Such a relief from all of those...louder meals."

It was then that other noise intruded on her moment of palsied fear..._screams._ Her body disobeyed her and she looked away from her killer. All around her, people, people she KNEW, were writhing in agony, as cruel-clawed hands sucked their life from them. She began gasping, but the air was not enough, couldn't be enough. Again and again she drew breath in, lesser and lesser amounts, trying desperately to scream, to yell, to do SOMETHING, but she wasn't strong enough, wasn't able. What could she do? Even now she watched as they weakened, slackened, and fell, shades and shadows of what one were living, breathing people.

Her gaze fell as she wrapped a hand around her throat trying to work through panic. 'Episodes', as her mothered used to call them, 'fits' where no matter how she tried she could not breathe, not really. A ringing began in her ear, louder and louder and black lined her vision. She was going to pass out, faint dead away... or perhaps this time she'd just die, her body would forget to breathe and her heart would cease to beat and thus she'd cheat this wraith out of his meal. A hysterical kind of amusement, grave humor, began rising in her with the panic, the fear. Maybe she'd win this one yet.

"Calm, human." That voice again, rang strange in her ear, strange... and close. She glanced up to see he, it was one of the many males of the elite wraith, had crouched beside her, his black long jacket billowing out in waves of obsidian around him. His hand came toward her and she tensed, twitching away as much as she could, with her muscles so tight. It was not far, not near far enough to stop him from cupping her head in his hand.

The feel of him, the odd mild-warmth he radiated, had the opposite reaction as it should have. It calmed her. It should have sent her over the edge, sent her twitching into a full episode to die on the floor here, with her kith and kin, but it didn't. Instead, her entire being focused on his hand, on the heavy weight of the rings and accessories he wore, then length of his fingers, the breadth of his palm. She noted, with a small detached part of herself, that he had no callouses, his hands were as smooth as a highborn lady's. Soon her breath came slower, her muscles loosened their knots and she eased her trembling.

Of course, she thought with venom, the one time her disease might have been a preferable death, it had failed her. Now still, and silent, she watched him. She wasn't afraid anymore, she had no energy to be afraid, not after that episode. With a kind of drained patience she awaited her end. Perhaps it would be over quick as her comrades. Maybe this wraith, her wraith she decided, for if he chose her for his meal he was in some way hers, was very, very hungry. It would be agonizing, but quick.

Her wait was unrewarded, for as she was watching him, he was watching her, studying her. She noted his tattoo, a curl-i-cue of sharp barbs accenting his right eye and contouring his cheek. His hair was long, whiter than snow, and looked as fine as thistle down. The urge to touch it appalled and shamed her. No question the wraith were beautiful, but it was a savage beauty, like a thunderstorm. Those who coveted and longed for such terrible looks were almost always swept away in the storm.

A cry was torn from her as with a surprisingly quick move her wraith snatched her by her hair and dragged her upright. He strode down the odd looking hall, tugging her behind him. She could not get her feet under her, her legs were weak and trembling now, but she endeavored to avoid falling on her face. Perhaps he would keep walking and end up dragging her along by her hair. A moment of mirth hit her. Wouldn't THAT be a sight to see?

After a few twists and turns she managed to stumble upright enough to reduce the risk of falling, but she did not come closer despite the pain of her scalp. Pain was something she needed now, to awaken her and snap her body out of this odd complacency it had fallen into ever since the wraith put his naked (Feeding!) hand to her skin.

Where in the world was he taking her? Was he too shy to dine with his compatriots. A hysterical giggle escaped her, soft and desperate. Maybe he was shy. After another ten full minutes of tug-by-the-hair she was getting tired and even efforts to amuse herself with naming her Wraith had left her. Rothschild? Ruben? She was in the R's now. Raven? No he was just as pale as the rest. Rowan?

To their left a queer looking door slid open. Finally, she thought, to get this over with.

The Wraith tossed her in, released her hair and turned to secure the door. When she had pushed the tangled mass of her hair away from her face, she found him standing there, against the door, watching her. Fear slipped dark tendrils around her chest. Oh! If only he had taken her as she woke, so that the moment of fear would have been brief. She tried, really she did, to stay still, but when he began his approach she could not help but to back away. He paused, cocking his head a moment. As if he had known, the moment she turned to run he snatched her wrist, and flung her against the wall.

His hands slammed into the wall, boxing her in. The spike of unadulterated terror should have sent her into the fit of her life, but didn't. Instead she was left to enjoy the fear untainted by panic, as she stared into his smug golden eyes. Frozen again by those alien eyes, she didn't move when he slid his hand down to cup her neck, nor when the other followed to flow intimately over her collar bone. She began to close her eyes, but the slight tightening of his hand and the warning tilt of his head stopped her. Alright, so she would watch him as he sucked her dry. It couldn't be any worse than watching her father drink away their winter-money, or when he had given her to those men... She pulled away from that train of thought.

No, one horror at a time, and after this, no more.

His hand settled over her heart, fingers curling intimately around the curve of her breast. For a moment she was shocked as...did his be-ringed thumb just stroke her nipple? No, of course not. She ignored it...and pushed it from her mind when it happened again. The third time she could deny it no longer. He was... rubbing her nipple.

Oh, this was too much! Not only was he stealing her life but he was _enjoying her body as he did so?_ How dare he? Didn't he respect the sanctity of the hunter-prey relationship? She certainly didn't fondle the pigs as she slaughtered them!

Then he did something unexpected. His feeding hand slid lower, and warmth flared to life in her belly. Her eyes went wide, staring into his. He was... was he? She went to move, to stop him, but his hand tightened further on her neck, cutting off her air until she relaxed. By then his hand was slipping past the top of the hand sewn skirt she wore, and...

She sucked in air through her teeth as weakness spread through her abdomen and thighs. Warm, treacherous pleasure winged through her as her womanhood pulsed with her heartbeat. His cool hand cupped her mons, sending a spike of red hot pleasure jolting through her. She physically jumped, and then gasped as the motion pushed her more fully onto his hand. Oh, ancestors! The Wraith bared his teeth and hissed in a breath as his clever (Unwanted!) fingers slid easily through the moisture gathered there. No, no! He couldn't do this, not against her will! She had just watched his brethren kill her friends, her village! Her body could not be ready and willing for... for this Wraith!

But it was, her thighs began trembling as her belly quivered and warmth blossomed. He slid his palm against her more fully, pressing two fingers inside. At first her body resisted him, clenched so tight in rippling pleasure, but he was determined and with shallow thrusts of his hand wedged them inside. It hurt, but the feeling fullness... she could feel her pulse around his fingers as her womb clutched his hand greedily. The heel of that hand rubbed that little nubbin at the top of her sex, and the resulting sensation had her crying out, and her wanton, treacherous hips to rock against him.

"Yes..." He hissed, curling his fingers into her, deeper and she moaned sweetly as he rocked his hand back. "Good."

And then his hand was gone, and she wanted to weep in frustration at the same time that she cried out in relief. But her moment of confusion was short lived, for she was quickly manhandled over onto a ledge that jutted out from the wall. The wraith shoved her onto it, slamming her back by use of her neck and for a moment her eyes went dark and she struggled for air. When they cleared she found the Wraith struggling with the opening to his trews...

Her mind didn't comprehend this until she saw him release himself. No! No! Not this, not this again! And this time, it was not strangers her father had bartered her to for richer drink but this monster this demon, the bogeyman who haunted any rational human's sleep! But the time for panic was passed, for her skirts were already bunched to her hips and he curled his fist around himself, better to shove inside, to hurt her with.

He paused briefly, and she saw his interest, his blatant curiosity of her most vulnerable part. He dragged the head of his cock down the slit of her sex, sending white-hot, hated pleasure through her again, before his upper lip curled back and he pressed inside her.

Oh the pain! The familiar agony! Her moment of clarity, her memories of the only ever time she'd been with a man, this all had eased the wetness inside her and the Wraith was forced to wedge himself in roughly. He didn't mind, for as she arched her back and cried out in agony, he tossed his head and growled, low and long. He gave up his grip on himself and her neck, and clutched her hips to spear himself forward.

Pain sheared through her, pain unlike anything she'd ever known. It was an internal pain, one that was not easily healed or stopped. Her arms came up to clutch his broad shoulders to push him away. After a moment of savoring the feeling of her around him, she could feel her muscles spasming inside her, he pulled back and, with his death-grip on her hips, began pistoning in and out of her, ignoring her cries.

The hard slap of his abs on her sex, the fullness inside her, his fingers digging into her hips, these sensations all came together in a rush of feeling, building and building up. The build was painful, again and again and again he slammed into her until it rose up in a fearful wave of blackness and dragged her under. She was gone, deep under water, her lungs pained and black in her eyes for a brief moment, for forever.

And then it was gone, back out to sea, leaving her lost and broken, weak and filled with trembling. The Wraith continued to seek his own pleasure, and despite the horror, the pain (pleasure!) of the release brought to her she feared (Wanted!) it would happen again. For with each painful thrust the seas had begun to rise. But no, the Wraith sped, snarling to himself before digging his claws into her hips and pressing as deep as he could go inside her. When the crown of his cock rubbed the back of her womb she arched up, clutching him to her in pain. Too deep! Too much! Surely he could not Continue.

But no, her movements incited him further, and his grip shifted to cup the globes of her rump, lifting and separating and seating himself even further.

"No!" She gasped, and whispered. "You're too deep! It hurts!"

He snarled again and savagely bit her neck, driving himself again and again into that spot, as deep as he could. She began sobbing as the dark, black wave began rising, bigger and bigger, feeding on the pleasure/pain until it overwhelmed her again, and this time she screamed as it tore through her. The fluttering and spasms of her channel as she found release clutched him so tightly he followed her, uttering a long, low groan as he came inside her.

She cleaved to him, too weak to do much more, as he slowly removed his nails from the bloodied crescent marks on her behind. She had a matching set on her hips. She became aware as he gently? pulled her legs from around his waist and fisted his hands at her wrists to untangle her from him. With soft ease he settled her down, for her legs trembled too much to support her, onto the ground. Once settled she looked up at him in bemused confusion. As he pulled his hands away he somehow pulled her tunic up and off of her. He used the article to clean himself, then tucked his cock away.

He took her skirt too, loosening the tie with strange gentility and pulling it above her head as well. The Wraith smiled and cupped a breast as he did this, a smile of satisfaction. Then he patted her on the head like a good dog, and left her.

She stared at the door long after he left, confused, weak, and her body satisfied with the wicked, wanton act she committed with her very race's mortal enemy.


End file.
